


Living On (And Letting Go)

by Cleaskulty



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 22:35:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14506953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleaskulty/pseuds/Cleaskulty
Summary: A story of people coming together and falling apart. After his father's death, Pollux Collingwood runs from his remaining family only to fall in with Team Skull and their leader, Guzma. He struggles to come to terms with his new connections with the members of Team Skull and survive the eight months he has to live with them.





	Living On (And Letting Go)

The rain had never bothered him before. But then, Pollux supposed, he had never been stranded out in one of Alola’s heavy rainstorms before. As a child, they had always seemed magical – the constant pit-pat of drops on their tin roof and the deep booms of thunder never failed to send a warm chill down his spine. Curling up with Pim and his father on the couch only made the dreary grey skies feel warmer.

It was not so now, however. The downpour was constant, and it had been for the past day and a half, disregarding the brief periods of showers when the storm lightened. All he could think of was the all-encompassing cold, leeching past his clothes and tearing away any warmth he had from his bones. Even in the temperate climes of Ula’Ula’s October, the rain left him shuddering endlessly, hair plastered haplessly to his forehead and nape.

It had even become too much for Pim; though the Pyukumuku depended on water to survive, the relentless downpour had eventually chilled him as well, forcing Pollux to return him to his ball.

Pollux let out a deep sigh, casting his eyes toward the mottled grey of the sky. _I’d better find some shelter soon,_ he thought hopelessly, _or I might just freeze out here._

 -

 

The rain never failed to make Po Town feel desolate. The brightly-graffitied wall of houses that in the day were cheerful only seemed empty below the dark cast of the stormy sky. Likewise, even the most energetic, joyful grunts were left despairing in the downpour, eagerly counting the time until their watch shift was over.

The grunts stationed outside of the mansion were no different; Niko glanced over at his partner, Lauren, who was shivering just as deeply as he was, hands tucked desperately under his armpits.

“How much longer?” he asked, nearly having to yell over the booming of thunder.

When after a few moments Lauren didn’t answer, Niko repeated, “Dude! How long until we’re let inside?”

Finally turning to look at him, Niko was surprised by the spooked look in Lauren’s eyes.

“Yo, do you see that?” He asked, pointing just past the boundary of trees that surrounded the mansion.

Sure enough, when Niko squinted, he could make out something small and dark beyond the torrential rain, perhaps ten feet ahead of them. “What is that? A Pokémon?” he wondered aloud. Then, turning to Lauren, he asked, “Should we check it out?”

Lauren rolled his eyes. “That’s our job, dumbass. C’mon, let’s go.”

As soon as they got closer, Niko was able to immediately recognize the shape. _A Pyukumuku?_ He thought, watching the thing stubbornly rock back and forth in an effort to move forward. There was no way that it was wild; Po Town was too far from the coast to find any, and even then, they were rare on every island except Akala.

Lauren seemed to come to the same conclusion that he had, for he yelled, “There must be a trainer nearby! Let’s split up!”

Niko nodded his assent, turning to check the tree line as Lauren checked around the mansion. As he moved past the lost Pyukumuku, it caught his attention with an ominous burbling noise. Turning back to look at it, (and fingering one of his Poké balls, in case it attacked) he instead found it facing the tree line, making odd bubbling noises, and… was it trying to jump?

Dread curled in the pit of Niko’s stomach as he hoped dearly his assumptions weren’t correct. “Okay… okay…” he reassured himself briefly, before continuing forward, past the tree line.

It was easy to see the path the Pyukumuku had taken once he paid attention; despite its small size, it was incredibly slow, and there was a line of distressed shrubbery leading sharply northwest. Steeling his nerve, Niko followed, only losing the path a few times when it fated into patches of mud, already rained over.

And though Niko had prepared himself, he was nonetheless shocked when he found the mysterious trainer, collapsed behind a flowering bush. He looked about seventeen or eighteen, and his clothes were drenched through and covered in mud, from his jeans to the shoulders of his plaid button-down. His face, too, was ominously grey, eyes cloudy, half-lidded and staring unblinkingly at the sky.

“Shit, shit –“  Niko gasped, taking a step backwards. “Lauren! Lauren!”

 -

 

“Boss! Boss!” The panicked calls of two of his grunts shook both Guzma and Podsy out of their respective peaceful reveries. Guzma looked sharply up, setting his cooling Tapu cocoa down on the table perhaps a bit too hard, and Podsy became alert as well, sitting straighter on her torn mattress in the corner.

_This had better be good._ He thought. All of the grunts had been warned, of course, that interrupting him in his bedroom was equivalent to a death sentence. But all thoughts of chastisement flew from his mind when he saw what the grunts had brought – carried precariously between the two was what looked like a corpse, alarmingly grey and unmoving.

“M-may we come in, Boss?” one of them had the intelligence to ask, and shocked as Guzma was, it took him a few moments to respond.

“What the hell? Yes, yes, get in here.” He ushered them in, shutting the door behind them.

“What the hell is this?” His voice was tightly restrained as he watched them lay the body on the floor. “Did you two fuckin’ kill someone? Because we may technically be criminals, but –“

“Boss, he’s alive.” One of them – Niko, he thought his name was – interrupted breathlessly. “We found him outside, behind the mansion –“

“What?” Guzma snapped, kneeling down to check the body himself. At closer inspection, it appeared that the body’s – well, the kid’s – chest was rising and falling shallowly, beneath his drenched shirt. His cheeks, though initially pale looking, were flushed a deep pink, and his eyes were half-lidded, wandering unfocused around the room.

“Shit.” Guzma cursed, placing a hand on the kid’s face. Though clammy from the rain, there was no doubt he had a fever, judging from the heat emanating from under his palm.

“Explain.” Guzma demanded, sitting back on his heels. Despite the height disadvantage, he nonetheless managed to intimidate the grunts, judging from their hurry to obey. In quick, interrupted sentences, both of them explained the odd Pokémon they saw and the conclusion they came to. When they were finished, Guzma paused for a moment before saying,

“Go back out there and get the Pokémon.” Glaring back at the kid, he quickly added, “Find his bag, too, he must’ve had one.”

When the grunts made no motion to move, he yelled, “Well? Go!”

With a chorus of “Yes, boss” and “Sorry, boss!” they finally left, leaving him, a half-dead kid, and a curious Golisopod alone.

“Fuck…” He murmured in exasperation, drawing a hand over his face wearily. Turning his attention to Podsy, who had curiously approached them both when the grunts left, he asked, “Get us some towels, would ya, Pod? Kid’s gonna need ‘em.”

Obligingly, she shuffled off to the bathroom, and Guzma finally focused on the glazed eyes of the kid in front of him.

Though, perhaps “kid” was an inaccurate moniker. He was clearly well over age to be going on a trial, and couldn’t have been much younger than Guzma himself – his face lacked any of the baby fat a teen would have, and there appeared to be a bit of dark peach fuzz on his upper lip and chin. Shaking his head at his ruminations, Guzma tapped his face lightly. “Hey. Hey, can you hear me?”

It took a few moments, but the kid’s eyes finally focused on him – still dazed and feverish, but more aware than before.

“Hey, look at me.” Guzma tapped his cheek again when his eyes drifted away, getting the kid’s attention. “Why are you here? Why did you come here?”

 The kid blinked dazedly for a few moments, before he answered with a raspy, “Where?”, so quiet that Guzma had to strain to hear it.

“Where?” Guzma repeated, barking out a laugh. “Where? You’re in Po Town, kid – Team Skull’s territory. Now, why did you come here?”

The kid merely furrowed his eyebrows at that, pursing his lips and looking confused. “I didn’t… I don’t… please…” He rasped again, blinking dazedly around once more. “I have to…” At this, he tried to push himself up with trembling arms. “Don’ wanna…”

“What? Hey, lay back down. You’re gonna hurt yourself.” Guzma nudged his shoulder to get him back on the floor. The kid gasped, looking breathless and panicked, eyes wandering around the room before focusing on Guzma again.

Podsy entered the room about then, carrying a frankly alarming number of towels. She dropped them next to Guzma, then sat, satisfied and waiting for praise.

He snorted. “What, did you get all the towels we had?” At Podsy’s confused trill, he sighed, and said, “Well, good job, girl. Thanks.” She preened happily at that, and Guzma turned back grabbing a few towels and laying them on the couch where he often spent his sleepless nights.

“Hey, kid.” Guzma tried again to get his attention, but it seemed that his brief lucidity was gone, leaving him just with glazed eyes and a limp neck.

Guzma let out a heavy sigh. “Guess we’re doing this the hard way.” He grabbed under the kid’s shoulders, dragging his torso on the couch. “Help him up here, Podsy.” He grunted, and she hurried to lift his legs as well and place them on the couch.

_For such a scrawny lookin’ kid, he’s heavy._ Guzma thought, taking a step back from the couch. After a brief moment of rest, he thought, _The fuck am I even doing?_ Besides the fact that he ended up on their territory, the kid’s life (or death) was no business of his. Nonetheless, he was reminded of the deep burst of fear he had felt when he saw his grunts carrying what looked like a corpse, and he let out a deep sigh.

“Fuck. I guess I’m really doing this.” He grabbed one of the towels from the pile, beginning to rub it briskly over the kid’s drenched curls. “Hey, kid, if you’re awake in there, now would be a good time to show it.” He said. This brokered no response, however, and Guzma let out another deep sigh.

“Okay, whatever. I’m gonna take your clothes off before you fuckin’ freeze, so if you feel like participating at any time, feel free to join in.” he muttered sarcastically. Leaving the now-drenched towel draped over his head, he moved his hands to his clavicle, beginning to unbutton his drenched shirt.

It was with a great deal of manhandling that Guzma finally wrestled the kid out of his shirt. He now seemed completely unresponsive, and the way that he flopped around may have been funny if it wasn’t both utterly terrifying and frustrating.

Grabbing another towel to wrap around his shoulders, Guzma paused when he noticed what seemed to be bruising on the kid’s chest. What at first appeared to be shadows from the poorly lit room now looked to be old, faded bruises – and his entire torso was covered in them. Mottled greens and yellows painted his shoulders down to the bony edges of his hips where they poked out of his jeans, and Guzma leaned back, studying them for a moment.

It wasn’t all too uncommon for trainers to come by a few scrapes and bruises during their travels – Guzma knew he certainly had his fair share when he had traveled through Alola at 14. But those marks didn’t look like accidents acquired when one tripped and fell walking through the underbrush. They almost looked intentional. Though they were thoroughly faded, he could almost make out shapes – round bruises where fingers pressed too hard, and an oval-shaped one – newer than the rest – right below the ribs, looking to be made by a fist or knee.

Guzma shook his head – the kid’s mumbled, desperate words earlier suddenly made sense. He was running from something – and, whether on accident or by intention, he had ended up in Po Town – the one place that no one would dare look for him.

His thoughts were interrupted by Podsy’s curious noises. She, too, had been observing the kid, and had inched closer, watching him keenly. Smiling to himself at her curiosity, he briskly dried the kid’s torso, mindful of the bruises. Tossing the now-damp towel aside, he grabbed one of his own shirts from his dresser and pulled it hastily over the kid’s head. It only seemed to make him look scrawnier than he already was, the neckline slipping over his collarbone in a way that made him look distinctly vulnerable.

“Alright, Podsy, I’m gonna need your help with this.” Guzma said, glancing back at her as he took the kid’s muddy shoes off and threw them aside. Obligingly, she inched closer, and at Guzma’s order sat the kid up long enough for Guzma to shimmy his soaked jeans off his legs.

He dried him as quickly as he could, hoping to preserve both his and Guzma’s dignity. However, he couldn’t help but notice the continuing line of bruises – they disappeared past his only slightly-damp briefs and reappeared back around his thighs, becoming fainter until they disappeared entirely save for a single new-looking bruise on his ankle. Feeling sick, Guzma tried not to think about the implications of this and hurriedly covered the kid’s legs with the ragged throw on the back of the couch.

Finally done, Guzma stood and glanced back at Podsy. She was still staring intently at their guest, crouched close to his face with an odd look in her beady eyes. “Podsy?” he asked, trying to get her attention. Before he could gauge a response, however, two timid knocks sounded at the door.

“What? Who is it?” He snapped, trying to regain his character. This kid – whoever he was – had put him thoroughly out of sorts.

“B-boss, w-w-we found his stuff.” An obviously cold grunt chattered behind the door. “A-and his P-Pokémon, too.”

Guzma opened the door, using his body to shield the rest of the room from view. One of the grunts was holding a worn backpack – just as drenched and mud covered as the clothes now strewn on the floor – as far from his body as possible. The other was in a similar position, except he was holding a small, muddied Pyukumuku, surprisingly calm looking for being in the hands of a stranger. Guzma gestured demandingly, and they immediately handed them both over. Guzma grimaced at the slimy feeling of the Pokémon in his hand and turned to shut the door. After a moment’s pause, he added, “Good work. Go warm up or somethin’.” Then slammed the door shut with his foot.

Dropping the muddied bag on the floor, he observed the Pokémon that he was given. It was rather small, even for a Pyukumuku – he could easily hold it with just one of his hands. Other than that, and the mud covering it, it seemed healthy enough. Clear red eyes stared at him intently, unblinking, and its tiny body palpated softly from under his palm.

Shuddering at the feeling, he handed it to Podsy, who by then had moved to study the new Pokémon. “Fill up the sink, and put it in there.” He said, handing it over to the Golisopod. She held it with surprising gentleness between her claws, staring down with some unknown emotion in her eyes. “Pyukumuku are pretty rare, it should fetch a decent enough price.” He added – though more to himself, as Podsy was already halfway to the bathroom.

He grabbed the bag and sat in his armchair, wallowing silently at the state of his now-cold tapu cocoa. He sighed deeply, unzipping the bag. If he was lucky, he could at least make some money out of the misfortune of this kid.

The bag, however, was surprisingly empty – all he could find was an empty water bottle, a change of clothes (just as drenched as the ones the kid had been wearing), a toothbrush, and two Poké balls – one presumably for the Pyukumuku, but the other a mystery.

_Another Pokémon?_ He thought, pleased. Although there was no sign of anything that could tell him the kid’s identity, it seemed he was lucky enough to get two Pokémon to sell.

He pressed the button on the ball to release the Pokémon, and immediately regretted it. Guzma recognized it as a Minior – another rare Pokémon – but the Minior seemed to recognize him as well, for it instantly flew forward and bashed itself against Guzma’s head.

“Ah, fuck!” he exclaimed, holding a hand up to his head as he jumped up to dodge its further attacks. He fumbled for its ball and returned it, just as it made another move to ram him.

“Ah, shit.” Guzma sat heavily, rubbing the sore spot on his head. “Stupid thing.” Podsy made an inquisitive noise from the bathroom, and Guzma quickly yelled, “It’s fine! Just fix up that Pyukumuku.” When no more sounds came from Podsy, he relaxed again, leaning back to study the kid on his couch.

Already, he seemed to have lost some of his deathlike pallor, and Guzma could make out steadier, deeper breaths. Now that he had time to observe him beneath the mud and dirt, the kid looked younger than he initially thought. Drier now, his dark, damp hair fell in curls around his forehead and ears. His face was thin, but handsome, even as his long eyelashes brushed panda-eyes and gaunt cheekbones. He also looked familiar, somehow – the curve of his jaw and the shape of his nose reminded Guzma of someone, but he couldn’t pin who it was.

Podsy returned from the bathroom, then, carrying a basin precariously between her claws. “What?” Guzma began to ask, but as she neared he could see a shallow layer of water and the trainer’s Pyukumuku, looking significantly cleaner, inside.

Podsy sat the basin on the coffee table, making sure to face the Pyukumuku toward its trainer. The Pokémon burbled happily at this, and Podsy chattered back with equal fervor.

“You shouldn’t be making friends with Pokémon we’re going to sell.” Guzma chastised, trying to restrain the laughter in his voice. It was just like his Pokémon to befriend some strange trainer’s Pyukumuku. She only shrugged unrepentantly at this, then returned to her conversation with the Pyukumuku.

_Is my own Pokémon trying to take over?_ Thought Guzma with a hint of humor, leaning back in his chair and kicking his feet up on the coffee table. As he relaxed with his mournfully cold Tapu cocoa, Guzma wondered once again what, exactly, he had gotten himself into.

 -

 

Pollux rose back into consciousness slowly, but all of his aches he was made aware of at once. He groaned softly; his head felt muddled, stuffed full of sand, and his muscles felt weak. He breathed in slowly, eyelids fluttering open; thankfully, the light in his room was dim, keeping what would most definitely be a massive headache at bay.

 A bolt of shock pulled the rest of him awake with startling immediacy – he wasn’t in his room, there was no way that he could be! He had left. Gasping, Pollux struggled to study his surroundings.

He appeared to be laying on a couch in a room he did not recognize. The couch was overstuffed, but worn; the vaguely floral pattern of its upholstery was almost completely faded. He wasn’t in his own clothes, either; he was wearing an overlarge white tee shirt, just as worn as the couch. It smelled vaguely of sweat and cheap detergent, as well as something else he couldn’t identify. It looked as if there had been a blanked pulled over him, too, but it was now stuffed at the end of the couch, pushed away in his panic.

His breaths began to come more rapidly, but Pollux gritted his teeth, trying to hold back the overwhelming panic and observe the rest of the room. All of the furniture seemed just as worn and mismatched as the couch he laid on. There was a stained coffee table and an armchair across from him, and beyond that, he could see a bookshelf lined with unsorted papers next to a closed door. The walls were covered in an ugly, peeling wallpaper, and there appeared to be a few symbols graffitied here and there. Most of the light was coming from a single broken lamp in the corner, covered by a dirty, off-white shade that cast a warm, soft glow on the room.

Pushing himself up on wobbly elbows, Pollux looked behind the couch. There was another door, through which he could see a bathroom. A broken dresser stood against the wall, held up by a stack of books under its one broken leg. Mismatched items covered the surface; a snow globe, Poké balls, more papers, and even a few dumbbells. Finally, next to the dresser, there was a bed, and next to that, a worn, bare mattress. The bed was empty and unmade, with sheets and blankets strewn about it messily, but some sort of Pokémon lay sprawled on the mattress on the floor. It was silver-colored, and looked incredibly bulky, but its face was turned away from Pollux in a way that made him unable to identify it.

Arms trembling, Pollux fell back on the couch. Turning his attention back to the graffiti, Pollux noted that much of it looked similar to the symbols he had seen on the news during segments warning people about Team Skull. Studying them closer, he felt fear curl deep in the pit of his stomach. Those were Team Skull emblems – there was no doubt about it. The odd, stylized S that was drawn on the wall was incredibly distinctive.

_Is that where I am?_ Pollux thought, mind muddled with fear. _Some sort of – Team Skull halfway house?_ Pollux closed his eyes, struggling to take more regular breaths and to quell the shaking of his hands.

Eyes snapping open again, he hastily studied the room once more. Where was Pim and Odie? His bag was nowhere in sight, either – however, the mysterious Pokémon seemed to have arisen, likely disturbed by his panic. It looked incredibly intimidating, but Pollux recognized it as a Golisopod, a Pokémon that was largely peaceful.

It studied him from a few feet away, silent except for its quiet breaths. “He-hello?” Pollux greeted it timidly, voice cracking from disuse. “I’m sorry. I don’t know where I am… or who your trainer is.” He added.

It responded quickly with rapid clicking and whistling sounds. Though its mouth didn’t appear to be moving – _does it even have a mouth?_ Pollux thought briefly – it sounded as though it were responding. It then took a few steps towards him, and in response Pollux pushed himself further back into the couch. Gentle though Golisopod were reported to be, he was wary of taking chances with any Pokémon he did not know – especially one in Team Skull territory.

It finally paused a few feet away from him, staring for a few entirely-too-long moments. Finally, it turned away, slipping through the door that he had assumed to be closed – one that looked to lead to a hallway.

Relaxing back into the couch, Pollux let out a sigh. Now would be a good time to leave, but there were no windows in the room – not to mention, he couldn’t leave without Odie and Pim. And, completely disregarding any difficulties actually escaping from Team Skull, Pollux felt as though he would collapse if he even attempted to get up.

_How would I escape, anyway?_ Pollux thought. _Everyone says that if you enter this part of town, you never leave. Either that, or you become a part of Team Skull…_ he shuddered at that thought. There was no way he would survive in a gang like Team Skull, even if he was desperate enough to join.

Hearing a noise from the hallway, Pollux turned his attention to the half-open door. He heard what sounded like a pair of footsteps, one heavier and clumsier than the other. Heart beating tremulously, Pollux swallowed. He had no idea what to do. He was likely about to face some miscreant member of Team Skull, who, while letting him sleep on their couch, had likely stolen his Pokémon to use for their crimes. He didn’t know what to think – why wasn’t he just left out in that storm to die?

His panicked thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of first the Golisopod he saw earlier, followed by what was probably its trainer. The man was almost as big as his Pokémon – thickly muscled and tall, with a strong, square jawline. He had an undercut and bleached hair, and his brown eyes were dark and heavy-lidded. He seemed to be dressed like a hooligan, too, wearing overlarge sweatpants and a hoodie layered with a white tee-shirt – one similar to the one Pollux himself was wearing. He walked, slouched, in the room and plopped himself down in the armchair across from the coffee table – and, despite his casual wear and poor posture, Pollux was greatly intimidated by him. There was something about this man that exuded confidence and power, and Pollux was suddenly fearful of this man’s motivations in helping him.

After a moment of unabashedly studying him back, the man said, “Well. You’re finally awake.” His voice was deep, unexpectedly so, with an odd resonance that spoke of life on the streets. “Was wonderin’ if that fever you had would ever break.”

Pollux gulped, suddenly unsure of what to say. Should he thank him for his (unwanted) help? Ask him where his Pokémon were? Beg for mercy? He turned his eyes to the Golisopod where it sat next to the man, and noticing Pollux’s attention, it made a chittering noise, as if in reassurance. Pollux took a deep breath, then pushed himself up, leaning farther back on the arm of the couch so he was at least sitting up to face this man. The silence continued – and, after a few moments of waiting, the man said again, “What? Are you mute, too?”

“No.” Pollux responded suddenly, surprising himself with the strength of his own voice. “I – I don’t know what to say to you.”

The man snorted, looking amused rather than angry (which, Pollux supposed, was a good start). “Well, a thanks would be a good place to start. My boys coulda just left you to die out there.”

_That probably would’ve been better._ Pollux thought bitterly, before shaking the thought away. “Well. Thank you, then. Can I…” he paused for a moment, looking away from the man’s intense gaze. “What’s your name?”

The man smirked at this, oddly smug. “What, you don’t recognize me? Surprising, with my face plastered all over the news lately.” He leaned back at that, kicking his feet up on the coffee table between them. “Guzma Holzmann. Nice to meet ya.”

_Oh, fuck._ Was Pollux’s first thought at that. The leader of Team Skull? He was rescued by the leader of Team Skull? That spike of fear returned sharply and unrelentingly. Guzma was known for being ruthless toward those in his way – ruthless, and clever, which is how he kept out of jail. Even stronger than his fear of Guzma, the fear for his Pokémon returned – Team Skull was well known for trafficking Pokémon illegally, so what did that mean for his? He couldn’t imagine life without Pim, and Odie was all he had left of his father.

“My Pokémon.” Pollux’s voice was tight with emotion. “What did you do with them?”

Still smug, Guzma replied, “Well, I figured since you didn’t have any cash on ya I’d just take them as payment for my… help.” He drew out the word out long, tauntingly. “Got a few sellers lined up – yellow Minior are pretty rare, ya know –“

“I’ll pay you.” Pollux rushed out. “Whatever they’re going to pay you, I’ll pay you double – triple.” His voice was hard with emotion, wavering.

“Ha, with what money? I checked your bag, you ain’t got shit.” Guzma said. “And sure, you might be able to save up some cash – but I don’t take IOU’s, kid.”

“No, it’s –“ Pollux stammered, his lower lip trembling. _Don’t cry, don’t cry._ He chanted to himself. “I have an inheritance. It’s a lot of money – and, and, I’m seventeen, I get it in a few months, I’ll give you all of it, just not my Pokémon, please.”

Guzma’s eyes narrowed with interest. “An inheritance… how much money are we talkin’? Like I said, I don’t normally take IOU’s, but… I _might_ be willing to make an exception.” He smiled, cruel and hard.

Pollux’s breath stuttered as he breathed in, blinking away tears from his eyes. “It’s… it’s about twenty-one. Million.”

Guzma’s eyebrows rose up at that – he looked genuinely shocked, for a moment, before he managed to compose himself. “Well. Now we’re talking!” he laughed. His eyes darkened soon after, though, this time with suspicion. “And how would a kid like you come across this kind of money? How am I supposed to know you’re not just coming up with this to get your precious Pokémon back?”

“It- it was my father’s. He was – a famous astrophysicist. Dr. Collingwood. He worked at Mount Hokulani.” Pollux took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. There was still a chance he could get his Pokémon back. “I can – I can show you the papers, it was in his will. I’d just – need to get them – they’re at my house –“ he stuttered out, half sobbing.

Guzma was silent for a long moment, looking at Pollux consideringly. “Dr. Collingwood, huh? He was pretty famous. So you’re his kid? Pollux?” He nodded mournfully at this, still struggling to control his tears. It was odd that Guzma knew his name – normally only those who had met his father knew him well enough to know his name. Guzma leaned back, thinking, for another few long moments.

“Okay, kid, calm down. This works out, you’ll get your Pokémon back. We’ll figure something out.” In that moment, he suddenly seemed kinder than before – less the cruel businessman and more like a person who would save someone dying out in the rain.

Pollux hiccupped, struggling to regain his composure. “Thank – thank you.” He was suddenly dizzy – probably the combination of the crying and his remaining illness – and he leaned back heavily on the couch before struggling to push himself up. “I – I can go now –“

Guzma shook his head. “Sit your ass back down. You’re still sick.” When Pollux collapsed back on the couch, he continued. “You get better, and then we’ll go see these papers you’re talking about.”

Pollux sniffled. “We?”

Guzma barked out a laugh. “You think I’d let you run off when I’ve got the promise of millions of Pokédollars? Hell yeah, I’m coming with you!”

“And – and, my Pokémon? When can I see them?” Pollux asked.

“Sorry, kid, but you’re not seeing your Pokémon until I see my money.” Guzma responded, sounding not very sorry at all. “Hey, it gives you a reason to get better faster. Think of it that way.” He stood suddenly, then added, “But I’m a busy man – I can’t keep you company all day. Ask Podsy if you need somethin’, she’ll keep you company.” With that, he turned and left, closing the door softly behind him.

Breath still stuttered from crying, Pollux curled into a tight ball on the corner of the couch, feeling miserable. To not see his Pokémon until Guzma was paid seemed inconceivable – he wouldn’t get his inheritance money until he turned eighteen in May, and eight months was an awfully long time to be on the streets without his Pokémon. And with his Pokémon in the hands of criminals, who was to say they would be safe, or well cared for? He rubbed his eyes shakily. At this point, he didn’t care about the money. He just wanted his family back.

At hearing a noise, he turned around from where his face was shoved in the corner of the couch and found the Golisopod – apparently named Podsy – presenting him with a cracked mug full of water between its massive claws. He smiled shakily. At least he could trust in the kindness of Pokémon. “Thank you.” He said, taking the mug from her. He took a sip, before realizing how thirsty he was and gulping the whole thing down. Podsy chittered in apparent pleasure, then sat on the floor next to the couch, apparently intent on keeping him company like Guzma said. Pollux bit his lip, suddenly missing his Pokémon fiercely.

He closed his eyes and pulled the throw on the foot of the couch over himself, trying to get comfortable. _The sooner I get better, the sooner I can see my Pokémon._ He repeated Guzma’s words to himself. Pollux suddenly wished he had never left his home – at least then, his Pokémon would have still been safe. Nothing Aunt Mira could do to him could be worse than this – than losing his Pokémon.

With that thought in his mind, Pollux fell back into a fitful sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> More to be posted in the future. Feedback would be appreciated.


End file.
